


Learning Russian

by smirkdoctor



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Competency Kink, F/M, language learning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 21:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20453603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smirkdoctor/pseuds/smirkdoctor
Summary: During their first night in Rome (after the drinking, dancing, and wrestling), Gaby finds her way into Illya's bed.And suddenly her competency kink is showing.





	Learning Russian

Illya has, over his time in the KGB, developed a habit of half-waking sleep, a hair-trigger response to any environmental disturbance. He can roll off his sleeping surface, grabbing and aiming his firearm in a matter of a millisecond. This skill has saved his life numerous times.

But tonight, he sleeps deeply. Perhaps this is because of the frustration of dealing with the stubborn American Cowboy or the belligerent Chop Shop Girl. Or perhaps it’s the odd comfort he feels with the two of them. The warmth laced with acerbic humor they share serves as a shield, no matter how thin, between himself and his intelligence leadership.

If the small smile that quirks his lips as he rolls onto his side is anything to go by, he’s enjoying the sleep as much as the cause. He sighs as he settles back into the bed, which is firm and comfortable and quite big enough for his lanky frame, with space to spare.

Except that suddenly it isn’t, because he encounters a soft obstacle, pressing firmly along his chest. His breath catches and his eyes snap open, and there is Gaby taking up his entire field of view. Gaby with her thick eyelashes and soft brown hair, tousled from her drunken antics earlier. She seems so placid now.

But he very clearly remembers tucking her into the other bed, he remembers staring at her sleeping form for several minutes before closing his eyes. He turns his head to the side to check, and the disheveled sheets bear it out. What is she doing here? What’s her angle? 

The closeness of their faces, the near-kiss ending in an alcohol-induced slump comes flooding back and his face flushes. Just then, he feels small fingers slide along the flesh just above his pajama bottoms. He turns his head back slowly, not wanting to startle her.

“Gaby?”

She breathes a soft, affirmative “mmmmm” and moves her hand to the ties at the front of his sleep trousers.

“Gaby.” 

It’s stronger this time. It’s not a question. Well, it is--but not about what’s happening or even why. He’s felt the attraction zinging between them since the first glance she sent him as they sat in their cars side by side in a East German alleyway. 

He’s asking if she’s aware of what she’s doing.

Illya’s nose, which had been buried in her hair, breathing her in with short, soft sips, is suddenly tracing down her forehead, her nose. And then their faces are no longer touching. He blinks, and her dark brown eyes come into focus. They’re not glazed like they were during their ill-fated dance.

“I never told you how impressed I was with your driving,” she says. The non sequitur knocks him sideways, startles a laugh from him.

“Maybe you are still drunk, Chop Shop.”

The tilt of her head and the slight squint at the corners of her eyes say otherwise. The way her fingers deftly untie his fly also conveys sobriety. He can feel the rush of wanting, the rush of blood toward her hands, and he wants to stop his body from responding. But everything about this girl circumvents his usual defenses.

She’s started a quiet, murmured monologue about torque and rear axles, and he has to close his eyes as her fingers skim along the top of his pubic hair. He hears his name and snaps back to awareness. She’s asking him a question.

“Illya. How do you say ‘steering wheel’ in Russian?”

He shakes his head minutely and wills his prick to stop hardening. He feels the sensitive crown peeking out from his foreskin, rubbing against the cotton of his pants.

<<руль>> he rumbles. 

He hears Gaby’s quick intake of breath and feels the tip of her index finger circling his cockhead.

“Mmmmm, yes. _Ruuuuuuuuuul’_. I can’t stop thinking about the way you were holding it. Your big, strong hands. But I think...” her fingers skip down to his root and he is enfolded in her small palm “it’s time for me to drive now.” 

His eyes open wide and search out her face, but when he finds her, he can’t hold her gaze. Instead he drops his eyes to the small, amazed gape of her mouth. 

“_Bolshoi.._.” she breathes out, licking her lips then looking back to where her wrist has disappeared beneath the fabric.

Illya opens his mouth and nothing but a groan comes out. He can’t help the forward press of his hips into her hand, toward the soft cradle of her hips.

“Your grip was _so tight_,” she whispers as she begins to slide her hand up and down his shaft, twisting with a mechanic’s precision at the tip. Illya whimpers. “And those times you *jerked* the wheel…” 

Mimicking the described action, she applies more pressure, moving his cock away from his body. Ilya’s back bows. 

“Gab--” he gasps out, unable to finish the word. It’s been _so long_, and this is going to be over embarrassingly quickly, but it seems he can’t control anything when it comes to her.

“Not so big and tough here and now, are you?” She’s speaking directly into his ear now. She’s draped her body so her breasts press against his chest, and she drops her hand to caress his balls. 

“There’s just one more vocabulary word I need from you…” Gaby pulls back to look in his eyes, and he nearly sobs. He’ll give her anything. 

“Handbrake.”

He closes his eyes and draws a deep breath. He knows what’s coming.

<<ручной тормоз>>

“_Ruchnoy tormoz_,” she croons, running a loose fist up and down his length a few more times. “That move we did...side by side…where we pulled the brake to make that fast turn.” Her pace becomes slightly more rapid, matching the rate of her breaths, and he whimpers again.

“It felt like dancing,” she whispers, back at his ear. “It felt like _great sex._” 

And with that proclamation, she bites down on his earlobe at the same time she fists him tightly. She milks him from root to tip, pressing her thumb against the slit, and he comes. Semen spurts within his bottoms as his breath stutters out of him in cut-off moans.

“_Khorosho._” She lazily drags her fingers through the pool of fluid then settles her hand on his lower belly. Exhausted, he collapses onto his back, and she scoots closer to nudge her small face into the gap between his shoulder and neck. He can feel her smile.

His chest is still moving up and down, but his breathing is smoother. He runs his hand soothingly up and down Gaby’s arm and she snuggles more deeply against his side. 

This woman, whose strength comes in flashes, has captured his attention like nothing in the past three years. Her strength is a steel undercarriage to her beautiful body and soft features.

Illya smiles as he closes his eyes to finally sleep. 

He likes his women strong.

**Author's Note:**

> OMG I'm writing in a new fandom!
> 
> I tell you, this movie hit all my kinks: beautiful people, bisexual energy, mid century modern design, great stunt driving ...and Russian language. 
> 
> I rewatched the movie last night and was inspired by the initial car chase choreography as well as the note in the credits that Gaby is "learning Russian."
> 
> I settled on writing what Gaby says transliterated so you can *hear* it. Hope it works, and I hope you like it. I've got a little something planned for Illya and Napoleon, too.
> 
> Oh, and Bolshoi means big. ;)


End file.
